By Bree Davies
By Emerald O'Brien
By Gina Tron
By Jon Solomon
By Drew Ailes
By Courtney Harrell
By Kyra Scrimgeour
Back in 1983, Blackie Lawless claimed to be an animal who fucked like a beast. But today, it seems that the W.A.S.P. frontman is really just an asshole who fucks people over.
In one night, this relic from the Revlon era managed to enrage any enthusiasts he might have had left -- giving two local acts a Danzig-style shaft, leaving fans standing in the rain for over an hour, and threatening to shoot a soundman who wasn't even getting paid.
"Admittedly, I was not 100 percent prepared for him," says Todd Divel, who ran sound for Lawless and company at the Oriental Theatre on July 4. But nothing could have prepared Divel for the browbeating he suffered at the hands of this delusional megalomaniac -- except maybe the section on Lawless in David Konow's exhaustive tome Bang Your Head: The Rise and Fall of Heavy Metal. According to Konow, who conducted extensive interviews with Lawless's former bandmates Gary Holland, Randy Piper and Chris Holmes, the Ballcrusher had lined his shelves with books on how to intimidate people.
While the Oriental's staging crew unloaded and assembled a mammoth microphone stand -- a junkyard contraption that reportedly weighs in excess of a thousand pounds and looks like a poor man's knockoff of the stand HR Geiger designed for Jonathan Davis -- the Blackster, by way of his road manager, informed Divel that he wanted all of the local acts cut from the bill. When Divel, himself a musician who plays in the Monkey Butlers and Three Miles West, balked at the demand to scratch sets by Moore and Havok -- the latter of which had fronted part of the dough to make the show happen in the first place -- Lawless and crew passive-aggressively took matters into their own hands.
"So I realized that they're kind of pacing themselves slowly," Divel recounts, "because they wanted to push their time to as close to doors as possible, so that when it comes down to it we say, 'Well, we've gotta cut the local acts because we've gone too long.'"
The codpiece-clad character, whose ego is as big as his mike stand, has used this tactic for years. In 1997, when W.A.S.P. toured with Motörhead, Lawless "often delayed sound checks until right before the doors of the venue opened, leaving the band with no time to prepare," Konow writes. On that same tour, while Lemmy and company were on stage, Lawless threw all of Motörhead's personal effects out of the shared dressing room and into the hallway -- which prompted the metal god to later deck him. At a tour stop in Boston nearly a decade earlier, Lawless made Metallica change "outside in a garden shed in the dead of winter," reports Konow. "When Lars Ulrich came backstage to borrow one of his heaters (there were several lying around), Lawless ordered him out of his dressing room."
Metallica? Don't tell Blackie, but I'm pretty sure the shoe's on the other foot these days. Who the hell does this guy think he is, Gene Simmons? In fact, in early interviews, Lawless -- a native New Yorker who replaced Johnny Thunders in the New York Dolls -- said he'd taken his cues directly from the Kiss bassist when he formed Sister, a proto shock-rock act that preceded W.A.S.P. But even Simmons, who's clearly had few self-esteem issues over the years, found Lawless's egomaniacal demeanor absurd. In 1985, when W.A.S.P. opened for Kiss, "their stage show featured giant replicas of the band's heads that floated above the stage," Konow notes. "Simmons looked at Lawless's head and remarked, 'Yep. That's about the size of it.'"
Same clown, different circus this month in Denver. At the Oriental, Lawless and his crew put Divel through the ringer. At one point, when the soundman was slow to comply with Lawless's inexplicable demand for a forty-millisecond delay in his monitor, the frontman lashed out. "Blackie takes a step back and looks at my monitor guy, and he goes, 'Can you run front of house?'" Divel recalls. "And the monitor guy says, 'No.' And Blackie goes, 'Can you fucking learn?' And the monitor guy goes, 'Well, um, no. I'm kind of busy at the moment.' Blackie then starts yelling at his tour manager. He's like, 'This is bullshit. I'm going to put a fucking bullet in that guy's head.'"
But Divel didn't need to worry, because a little later, when Lawless noticed some fans had taken shelter from the driving rain in the venue's lobby, he had a half-dozen security guards and MOD Productions' Cory Morrison escort him to his dressing room. "Apparently he said, 'Fuck. You told me there wasn't going to be this many people here. I don't want people to see me,'" Divel reports. "He just completely freaked out. The guy has no basis in reality."
Neither do the fans who've continued to follow him since his L.A.-based outfit caused a minor firestorm in the mid-'80s by issuing "Animal (F*ck Like a Beast)" -- Lawless's one claim to fame in a career that's otherwise a footnote in the annals of metal -- which became a focal point in the futile witch hunt led by Tipper Gore's Parents Music Resource Center. Because after performing for just 46 minutes at a deafening 118 db (excessive for a venue that size, Divel says), Blackie and his boys headed for their bus, and never engaged their fans at all.